Heartbreaker
by likemoves
Summary: "It's so weird watching another couple make out in front of you – especially when you're used to being that couple." Rashmi reflects on her past four years at SOAP with a little help from her friend St. Clair. AU one-shot.


**A/N**: I always thought the end of the book glossed over the demise of Rashmi and Josh's relationship, so I wanted to explore that a little bit further and throw in an AU twist. Hope you enjoy and, as always, no copyright infringement intended.

* * *

It's so weird watching another couple make out in front of you – especially when you're used to being that couple.

"Seriously," Josh says, nudging me on the floor. "We were never that bad, were we?"

Before I can answer, Meredith chucks her pen at him. "Um, yeah, you really were," she says, groaning.

Okay, so she's probably right. But I don't think we were ever this ridiculously, hopelessly, crazily in love with each other. Sure, there were sparks – but this – this I could practically feel from across the room.

"Whatever," Josh says. "It was worth it."

He gives me _that_ look – the one that kept me with him for a year and a half – but I try to shake it off. I can't afford to make-up-then-break-up again, especially when we're so close to final exams. Those grades might not matter to Brown, but they still matter to me.

"What book are you doing your final presentation on?" Meredith asks, ignoring Josh's comment.

"Camus, _L'Étranger_," I say.

"Of course," Mer says, laughing. "One of Monsieur Bergeron's favorites. It should be an easy A."

I try to practice a shortened version of my presentation for her, but St. Clair's whispers and Anna's sighs make it difficult to concentrate.

"That's it," I say. "I'm outta here. Enjoy your hormones."

"Yeah," Mer says, nudging Josh. "We should get going. Later, guys."

St. Clair gives us a royal wave as we exit, never taking his eyes – or lips – off Anna.

God, those two.

* * *

Later that night he knocks on my door. I know it's him before I even open the door – his stomping boots always give him away.

"Anna's gone to call her mum," St. Clair says. "Thought I'd see how you were."

He lets himself in and plops himself on my unmade bed.

"You've been pretty caught up there," I say. "Didn't think you'd come up for a breather."

He laughs and bites at his pinky nail. "Yeah, well, you know how it is," he says. "So how are you then?"

I look at him incredulously.

"I'm fine, never been better," I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

"Right," he says. "And I'm sure Josh is, too."

I sigh. "I'm really sorry about what happened with you two," he continues. "I'm not completely oblivious, you know."

"I appreciate it," I say quietly. "It has been really hard. Things just didn't turn out the way I thought they would."

"Tell me about it," he says, looking wistfully at me. "Remember when I used to think it would be me and you?"

I laugh. "Oh God, did you tell Anna?" I ask.

"No," St. Clair says. "I think we've all experienced enough drama for a year."

"Josh knows," I say. "We used to tell each other everything. He thinks it's hilarious."

St. Clair laughs. "I know, I know. He used to rib me about it before Ellie. I guess it's hard to imagine now, isn't it?"

"That you had a massive crush on me freshman year?" I ask. "It kinda is."

"You were such a heartbreaker," St. Clair says, a smile in his eyes. "I was crushed when you turned me down at Amanda's party. God, it's hard to believe we even hung around her then, too."

"We didn't know any better," I say. "We were just kids. We were supposed to be stupid. I mean, we drank wine that tasted like turpentine. Turpentine!"

"I was so gutted afterwards, and not just from that bloody wine," he says, laughing. "But I kept trying anyway until I found someone else. And I know you – you'll get out of this eventually, too. You'll try again and you'll find your Anna."

"She's not really my type," I say sarcastically.

"You know what I mean," he says, getting up from my bed. "You can always text me, let me know what blokes you end up meeting at Brown. I'll be happy to tell you which ones are complete wankers."

"Let me guess, all of them?"

"Ninety-nine percent," he says, opening the door. "But that one percent will be worth it."

His words make me tear up – because even after all this time, we still look after each other, the four of us. The original. The best. No matter what.

"Good night, St. Clair."

"_Bonne soirée, mon amie_."


End file.
